anathema—me without you
by izadreamer
Summary: Yuuri is a storm, but before that he was a child and after that he was nothing at all. (A look into the possible past and possible future of the most morally corrupted counterpart, with a few glimpses into the present. How did Yuuri become what he is, and how might he end?)


_A/N: A character study of sorts. Please know that this was written before the Arc V plot really snowballed, and before Yuuri and Serena's canon backstories were revealed. Also- this is not a character-bashing, nor is it excusing any of Yuuri's actions. Yuuri is an ass, but he's also human, and sometimes that's even worse._

 _According to the internet, anathema means "something or someone that one vehemently dislikes." Make of that what you will._

* * *

There is something breath-taking in watching a city burn.

He's perched up high, on one of the flat-topped but tall buildings clustering near Heartland's main center. From this height the screams have faded to mere echoes, and the fire resembles a wavering glow more than actual flame if he doesn't look directly at it. The smoke is thick, the sky obscured, and Yuuri watches a far-off building crumple into itself, its colors tarnished black and a wave of dust rising from its collapse.

Sparks dance in the air like fireflies, ash falling like snow. Night fell ages before, and in the darkness the stars glow with just as much fervor as their fires. Flashes of violet can be seen even from here, but their machines and warriors and the people they are hunting—all of them are hidden within the crumbling structure of what once was a city of light.

Yuuri holds out a hand. A spark seems to rest on his palm, and a brief sear of heat is the only evidence of its existence once he closes his hand around it. Even with his mask the smoke taints every breath, and he can taste the death of this city on his tongue, in this dark, bitter ash that coats the back of his throat.

Heartland is burning, and Yuuri watches its fall with the slightest of smiles on his face. There is nothing more beautiful or sacred than destruction, and Yuuri knows he will never see the like of it ever again.

. . .

 _"I will not lose!"_

The boy doesn't move. His eyes never waver. There is something sad in his expression, something pitying, something deep and dark and so very tired of it all.

"But you can't win, either," the boy says. "So what's the point?"

. . .

"Yuuri."

The Professor's voice is cold, his back to him. There is a tension in his shoulders, a stiffness in the way he holds himself. His hands are clasped behind him, fingers interlocked so tight they'll be sore when he finally has the mind to release them.

Yuuri observes this behavior with the disinterest of one who makes it habit to read the emotions of others. The Professor is tense, half a moment away from practically shaking with energy. Either something very good has happened, or something very bad.

A hologram materializes before him. It is a girl, with a shock of pink hair pulled into pigtails, dressed in a dull school uniform and standing tall even in the image, her chin tilted back and eyes fiery in a way Yuuri has seen twice before.

He feels a smile start to form on his face, and his breath catches in excitement. Another girl, another chase.

Another game.

He doesn't know who they are or why the Professor wants them, and he doesn't particularly care. He cannot deny he's interested though—they are the most fun he's had in ages. They're clever, they're resourceful, and they _fight_. Even when in captivity, they fight.

Yuuri can respect that much, at least, even if their efforts are futile.

The Professor hums low in his throat, and Yuuri focuses on him again, waiting impatiently for the order he so desperately wants to hear. The man is thinking now, but it is inevitable. Just like their capture, just like Heartland's fall.

"Find her. Her name is Hiiragi Yuzu."

Yuuri's smile widens, exposing all his teeth. The thrill of the chase-to-be sings in his blood, and he almost feels like laughing.

"Of course, Professor."

. . .

The roof is flat and hard against his back, shingles pressing uncomfortably into his skin, dirt under his nails and wind whipping through his shorn hair. He is six years old and dreaming, half-asleep under the stars with his best friend pressed against his side, her hand in his.

"Yuuri," Serena says, and her fingers curl tight around his, her nails digging into his skin. "Let's be the strongest!"

"What are you talking about?" Yuuri asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His mother is asleep and he's tired, too exhausted to pay full attention to whatever idea Serena's got now.

Serena makes a disgusted noise at him and he giggles at her, because he doesn't have to look to know she's rolling her eyes at him. "Academia, Yuuri, Academia! We're going tomorrow. Our training is finally starting."

She sounds excited, and the anticipation in her voice makes Yuuri want to sigh. He's not looking forward to tomorrow. Serena wants to save the world, but Yuuri would rather play. Saving the world doesn't sound very fun—just very _boring_.

Yuuri hums in response, not really listening anymore. He's tired, and the stars are a blur to his vision, a mess of gold and white against deep, dark blue. "Okay."

Serena knows him too well, however, because her finger jabs into his side, and when he turns, her scowling face is shoved near to his. "You're not listening!"

"I am!" Yuuri insists, rubbing his side reproachfully. He resolves to get her back in the morning, before they leave for the island. "You want to be the strongest, right?"

"Yep!" Serena says, happier now that's he's proved to be attentive. Her eyes narrow and she sticks one finger at him sternly. "Both of us!"

Yuuri sighs aloud at that, letting his head drop back against the tiles and staring up at the stars. They really are pretty. He wonders what they look like up close.

"Why both of us? It doesn't sound very fun."

"If we're both strong, we'll get to stay together," Serena says matter-of-factly, nodding her head firmly. "Besides… you'll get the best missions, I bet, which will be… more fun." She struggles to say the words, and Yuuri feels like laughing. Serena is the one who wants to fight for their home, to escape childhood and move on to bigger and greater things. To admit some of it might be a game clearly costs her.

Yuuri smiles a little. It does sound fun, when she puts it like that. Eternal entertainment and Serena by his side.

"Okay," he says, "it's a promise, then."

Serena grins and raps her fist against his arm, their variation of a pinky swear. Her smile stretches ear-to-ear, her teeth a pale gleam in the moonlight.

"A promise," she swears, and when Yuuri's fist taps her arm in return, she squeezes his hand with a smile.

. . .

At first, it's only a vague thought lingering in the back of his mind like a bad smell, unable to be chased away and hounding him at the oddest hours.

It's not a very logical thought, and in all honesty Yuuri has no idea why he thinks it at all. It's merely an observation, a quiet realization that should mean nothing but instead crops up when he least expects it. It nags at him in odd hours, whispers in the back of his mind, drawn out by the strangest things: two children practicing in the duel arena, Synchro teens planning their big break, the strange Standard duo that'd appeared at the wrong time and faced him together.

 _They are always together._

Every one of his counterparts are friends with the girls—the fiery, quiet, weak girls he's been sent to capture—and it's stupid and pathetic and honestly the most ridiculous thing, how his other selves mourn over them, destroy themselves over them. Out of the four, Yuuri is clearly the only one with any modicum of sense or skill.

And yet, Yuuri finds himself unnerved by it. They are always together. In every dimension they stand together, side by side, best friends, so hopelessly and pathetically caught up in each other they can't see reality closing in. They smile when they're together and _scream_ when he tears them apart.

In every universe, his other self stands with her. Every universe but his own, every counterpart but him.

Yuuri is not sure why it bothers him.

. . .

His first thought when he walks into Heartland is, oddly enough, _Oh. It's pretty._

Yuuri hadn't expected pretty. The XYZ dimension is full of trash, full of failures and weakness, people to be made a game of. They are fools and they are stupid and they would kill Fusion if they had the chance, so it's up to Academia to crush them first.

So it comes as a surprise to Yuuri, to step out of the portal and see lights. Academia has nothing on the towering colorful buildings that piece the deep blue sky, and in the daylight every color shines as if it's brand new. The city is clean and bright and filled with noise, endless chatter and laughter and life.

For a moment he is shaken, caught up in the scene. He can almost remember something, a faint memory dulled by time, of a home before Academia and a voice, so young and clear and crisp in his ears. He thinks that home shone like this city, once.

The moment passes; the memory fades. The rhythmic beat of boots on stone as Obelisk Force settles behind him rouses Yuuri from his musings. He straightens, automatically bringing his arm up with duel disk activated, automatically feeling a grin slide onto his face. There is no feeling behind it. There never really is.

(There used to be, though. Once. A long time ago, in a home he barely remembers and with a girl he no longer knows.)

His next thought is a wish—that the frightened people before him will provide at least a little entertainment.

. . .

He is dwarfed by the soldiers surrounding him, lost in the sea of older boys and girls. He's already jumped two classes in the span of five months. Today is the first time he is meeting Leo Akaba. Today is the day he proves his worth, and finally escape the boredom seeping into his every action, dulling every moment.

He wonders if it's his imagination, but the whole time the Professor speaks, Yuuri can swear his eyes linger on him.

. . .

Yuuri dislikes running into his alternate selves.

It's annoying, for one thing. It seems he's destined to be an idiot in every universe but his own, and it bothers him deeply. Academia is the most powerful force in all dimensions. It's why Yuuri bothers fighting for them in the first place, besides easy entertainment. So why is it, that these idiot other selves of his can't figure it out?

For another… it's disconcerting.

It's something Yuuri will never admit outside of the privacy of his own mind, but seeing another with his face is not—well, he's not sure how to describe it, really. Shocking. Confusing. _Insulting_ , in the case of that one XYZ double.

He doesn't like to admit it, but it makes him feel expendable. Yuuri isn't like the others. He's not some idiot foot soldier, only good for their brief fanatical loyalty and cruelty. He's not like Obelisk Force, some faceless demon that could be replaced without anyone ever knowing. He's _Yuuri._ He's the ace. He's one of a kind.

Except not, apparently.

The only consolation is the Professor's apparent disinterest in them—and the fact they are all clearly defective.

. . .

The day Yuuri and Serena arrive at Academia, they are separated. Two classes are split down the center, but guards come to escort Serena personally. They say her parents have informed the Professor of her coming. They say he's been waiting for her.

It's odd, but neither thinks much of it. This must happen often, surely. All it means is that Serena has a bit of head-start, so Yuuri will just have to work harder to be the strongest. Serena decides this will be good for keeping him from getting bored, even laughs when Yuuri scowls at her for the comment.

She doesn't seem sad at all, but Yuuri is struggling not to cry.

Serena promises to become strong, and Yuuri promises the same, and this time he even means it. The guards lead her away and he watches her go, lingering on the dock, feeling something deep and dark and sad rise up within him, lodging in his throat and burning behind his eyes.

Serena doesn't look back. Her head is held high, her back straight. She's always been the proud one. Yuuri watches her leave and wonders when he'll see her again.

He never will.

. . .

Hiiragi Yuzu is the first job Yuuri has failed in a long, long time.

His previous joy at the game—that exciting, lively chase that had lasted practically the whole night—has faded, his excitement ground to dust. Defeat is a new taste, and not one he enjoys. Having to admit his failure to the Professor, even more so.

He has seen the Professor's displeasure before, but never been on the receiving end of it. The disappointment in his tone, the sharp and clipped words of insult, the overbearing air of a disproving commander… Yuuri is being treated like a misbehaving child, and it burns.

He's worked hard for this respect, for the fear in others' eyes. One bad mission and it turns to ash. Yuuri wants to scream.

There is no consolation for it, and neither is there an excuse. Yuuri doesn't know what happened. There'd been light, a motorcycle roar, and his own cry of surprise… and then he'd opened his eyes to Academia.

He knows Hiiragi Yuzu did something, and he knows his Synchro counterpart—Yuugo?—had something to with it. That's it. There is literally no guarantee that it won't happen again, and while Yuuri likes games, he's not so keen on failure now that he's had a taste of it.

So he takes a new angle. He stays a good distance away from his target and watches. He can't find Hiiragi Yuzu—she's hidden from his eyes for now, though it's only a matter of time before he catches her—so he settles with other unknown factor.

Yuugo is… an idiot. Yuuri had already known this, of course, but seeing his counterpart constantly mistake the girl named Serena for Rin again and again, and again… it's ridiculous. And a bit sad, really, if Yuuri thinks about it.

It's also infuriating. _This_ is why Yuuri failed? _This_ is why he lost? _This_ is why he couldn't get Hiiragi Yuzu the first time?

The duel ends below him and Yuuri feels a snarl form on his face. Maybe his counterpart isn't such an idiot, to pull off a win in those situations, but it doesn't matter. He'll never win against Yuuri. He is as useless as every other person in this weak, lesser dimension, and Yuuri stares down at the track with a look that could freeze water.

He can't believe this person could have been _him._

 _. . ._

He's losing.

He breathes hard, hands curled on his knees, blood dripping freely from the slice on his head. He's been slammed into the ground a few times by now, and it shows: ripped clothes, scrapped palms, the way his body spasms in pain with every movement. His wrist aches fiercely, and his hair is falling before his face, any neatness lost ages ago.

He takes desperate pride in the fact his counterpart looks no better. Yuuya is barely standing, wavering on his feet, breathing weakly. Yuuri knows for a fact he's already broken some ribs. Blood stains his lips and teeth red as he smiles, and the only reason he's on his feet at all is because of goddamn Hiiragi Yuzu, who's slung his arm across her shoulder and supports his weight, her eyes never wavering from Yuuri's face.

"You should stop," Yuuya croaks, and Yuuri starts to laugh because he's never really understood those words, never really known them. He's never had the chance, and now it's far too late for that.

"I don't know how," Yuuri gasps out, "I don't want to."

"You're losing," Yuuya pleads, and his eyes—Yuuri's eyes, only wider and kinder and red like the cherries they put in drinks—remain fixed on Yuuri's face. "You're going to die. Please stop."

" _I will not lose!_ " Yuuri shrieks, and his dragon screams with him. Another blast, another desperate grab at a victory that has already left his sight.

Yuzu drags Yuuya away, and a trap card creates their shield—and on the sidelines voices call out, cheering, encouraging, and promising. One sounds familiar. One of them he knows, even if he can't remember how. The girl is older and colder and so very familiar, and she doesn't look at Yuuri at all.

The sound makes Yuuya's eyes glow, sparks determination in his heart, and he and Yuzu straighten, their hands clasped tight, fingers interwoven like they'd been designed to fit the hand of the other.

"I won't lose," Yuuri swears, because he's the strongest, he's the best, he's everything he promised he would be and so much more—

. . .

In his memories there is a girl with a familiar face, with dreams too big for her small hands, with a fleeting smile and mean right hook, who laughs and shoves him and says, _Let's be the strongest, Yuuri, let's be the strongest and let's always be together._

And his own voice, so much younger and so much softer answers, _It's a promise._

. . .

—and Yuuri is utterly, completely alone.


End file.
